The Lady Of Shalott
by Sheila51
Summary: Elaine is a Woad warrior who turns her back on their way of life for solitude on the magical isle of Avalon where healers heal those who are dying with magic. But she is the Devil general bound to the Woad's through magic and they will have her back...
1. The End and the Beginning

**THE LADY OF SHALOTT**

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A/N: This is an idea I had from reading to much David Gemmel and Terry Brooks, I therefore apologise ahead of time, because this story contains magic where as the movie was very 'realistic'. The 'Wyrd' is partially a celtic myth partly David Gemmel creation, 'The Lady' who appears later in the story is part "Lady of the Lake' part Terry Brooks' 'Lady'.

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Disclaimer: Other people own everything except Elaine, and my version of Avalon. So don't take them, cause i'll send Bors round to visit you with his axe. This story was inspired by the brilliant writings of D. Gemmell and T. Brooks, and I don't mean to use their ideas but I haven't got enough of my own, which is why I'm writing FanFiction and they are published writers, and also by the movie King Arthur(duh) umm and they own that... Wish I owned Lancelot though.

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Summary:(I hate these things) Elaine is a Woad warrior who turns her  
back on their way of life for solitude on the magical isle of Avalon  
where the healers heal those who are dying of illness or injury  
through magic and love.  
But there are those who believe she must return to her people, for  
she is the neice of Merlin, Guinevere's cousin and the chosen of a  
goddess to suceed Merlin. This goddess, the Wyrd or "olde woman of  
fate" believes that only one who has the strength to survive all the  
horrors of life and still give freely and compassionatly has the  
right to lead the blessed Woad. Elaine is the only such among the  
Woad peoples. The Wyrd therfore plans to have her captured, after all  
she has an appointment with destiny and the future of her people  
depends on her, the 'Devil General' of the north...

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Feedback: I will love you for the rest of your life!

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Archive: Umm YES PLEASE!

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Rating: PG-13 violence mainly, nothing you didn't see in the film...

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NOTE: This opening chapter is set three years before the movie, the next chapter is set four years before the movie, Elaine is is 23 at the time of the movie.

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**The Lady of Shalott**  
  
_Prologue: The End and the Beginning  
  
The headless body teetered a moment before slumping slowly to the  
ground. Her breaths came fast as her bloody sword hovered in the air  
over the body. She looked up at the boy who knelt nearby, his eyes  
wide as he looked at the head before him, he blinked and then looked  
up at her.  
"Go." She told him. Her voice did not shake, rather it seemed soft  
and deadly. "Go!" she repeated as he paused. He suddenly scrambled  
away, crawling on hands and knees before gaining his feet and running  
into the woods. Slowly she knelt beside the body, her sword fell from  
her shaking hands. The tears came then as broken sobs issued from her  
mouth.  
  
_Three months later:  
  
All was silent in the roundhouse as Merlin looked around. The  
chieftains who were present were silent and still, their blue paint  
and warlike raiment contrasting with their silent reflective  
expressions. Merlin returned his eyes back to the door, within just a  
few minutes the still air would be broken by the entry of his niece.  
Elaine was his brother's daughter, strong willed and an excellent  
warrior Elaine was the only child of Silagh, a princess from Ireland  
who had married Merlin's brother Mulain, the recently deceased  
chieftain of Shalott. Merlin paused in his musings as the double  
doors opened. The slender figure who paused on the threshold looked  
just as Merlin remembered. Her hair was thick and curled wildly  
around her Pixie like-face, which was dominated by huge emerald green  
eyes dominated.  
She turned those brilliant green eyes slowly around those around the  
room. With purposeful strides she began her way into the room. She  
stopped before him, he met those brilliant eyes and felt a slight  
flinch shudder through him. At a closer inspection he could see dark  
smudges beneath her bright eyes, and her pale skin seemed almost waxy  
in complexion. He paused as her green eyes closed a moment.  
With a deep breath he prepared to begin the ritual that would confirm  
her as chieftain of Shallot.  
"Elaine, daughter of Mulain, chieftain of Shallot and Silagh,  
Daughter of Michael, lord of Malkirk, honoured in the battle's of-"  
"Stop!" he paused as the voice rang out through his words. He looked  
down at his niece. She was shaking he realised with a frown. Her eyes  
were filled with tears. She shook her head at him as he opened his  
mouth to begin speaking again. "I have not come here, to be placed as  
chieftain of Shallot. I will not become that." She shook her head  
again. "I want no more, no more death, no more war." Her words rang  
out with conviction and more bitterness he had ever heard in her  
voice. She took a step forward, her eyes moved from one to another of  
the chieftains. Meeting them, challenging them. "That is all I have  
known, for my entire life I knew..." she shook her head. "I knew what  
I was to be, what my people needed of me, what my heritage demanded  
of me. But all my life, I have never known who I am." She paused a  
moment as a mutter swept the chamber.  
"Everyone I kill, they visit me at night, in my dreams, my  
nightmares. There is so much blood on my hands-" she reached out with  
those selfsame hands and Merlin knew a sudden and terrible fear. "-  
that sometimes I fear they will never be clean." She shook her head  
again as though she were fighting some inner battle. Then those  
anguish filled eyes turned on him.  
"I want no more to be a part of your world, your battle, your war. It  
is tearing our people in two, with every battle we lose more children-  
and for what?" Merlin shrank down within himself, she had the gift  
of her parents, to make men listen when she spoke, and he knew she  
was too intelligent to speak without reason behind those same words.  
Reason, he felt half way betwixt laughing and crying in hysteria. Her  
cool rational reason was why he held her so precious, she was the  
cooling, soothing balm of sanity to the passion of his own child,  
Guinevere was headstrong and wilful. Her cousin had been his hope,  
for they loved each other dearly, and when Elaine spoke, Guinevere  
listened. And she was speaking now.  
"Pride? Is that what we fight for?" her voice was low, encouraging  
those who listened to lean forwards in their seats to hear her  
better. "For our people? If we, their leaders thought in their best  
interests we would let them be! We would not bribe away their sons  
with false promises of Glory!" her rebuke rang out like a slap to the  
face, causing a flinch amongst the predominantly older male audience  
who listened. "I have lived battle since I was twelve, that was the  
first time I killed in battle, and there is no glory to be found  
there, only death and pain, suffering and misery. Because for every  
battle you win... There is still another to fight." Tears had  
actually fallen from her eyes.  
"And this one I won't fight." With those words she drew the longsword  
strapped to her back, it fell at his feet with a dull clang, rising  
dust and quashing his plans for his people's future. And as he  
blinked the dust that had risen from his eyes he realised she was  
gone.  
  
"Stop!" Elaine ignored the angry cry as she strode across the yard  
towards her horse. Her tall form and fiery mane of hair would mark  
her a mile away amongst her dark kinsman, so she did not attempt to  
hide as her cousin scrambled after her.  
"Elaine!" she was getting closer, Elaine blinked away the tears that  
fell from her eyes and kept her long limbed pace firm and steady. A  
small hand gripped her arm and spun her in her place. She stopped her  
momentum and looked down at the darker Guinevere and for just a  
moment she felt as though she would take it all back if Guinevere  
asked her with those enormous eyes. But the moment passed swiftly,  
and she saw it reflected in the way Guinevere drew backwards. Some of  
those under Elaine's command had taken to calling her the ice  
queen', they said that nothing could shake her icy personality in  
battle, and this would be one of her hardest battles. For from the  
time when they had been children Elaine had never been able to resist  
her Cousin's passionate nature, it lit the dark places in Elaine's  
soul, set fire to her own personality, causing her to become even  
more rational and precise. The exact opposite of her outward fiery  
appearance.  
"Traitor!" the growl broke Elaine from her musings with a start. She  
took a small breath, an unnoticeable movement of her shoulders, to  
remove the hitch the disgust and anger in her beloved cousin's voice  
had caused.  
"Think of something more original, Guinevere." She said, the words  
precise and deadly. They hit their mark perfectly, just like a dagger  
hitting the bulls-eye. Guinevere reared herself up to her full  
height, eyes wide open with anger and shock, her mouth open and  
speechless. Without a word Elaine turned away, walking swiftly  
towards her saddled grey.  
"You can run Elaine!" She paused at the words. And turned back to her  
small cousin, standing still and radiant as snow drifted from the sky  
in softest sheets of white. "But the cry's of your people will reach  
your ears wherever you go, you can run to the ends of the earth, but  
you will still hear us calling to you, in our need, in our desperate  
hour, when we need you most... But you will be to far away, hidden in  
the web made of your own cowardice and betrayal!" the words thrummed  
in her heart and mind, finding some place deep inside where her own  
banked fire of passion lurked and took root there. Outwardly she had  
not changed.  
"When you have done what I have done- speak on Guinevere, until then-  
" she shrugged and with a fluid movement flowed onto her horses back.  
And as she turned the horse into the snow, deep inside, buried behind  
walls of uncaring and unshed tears that small seed of words waited to  
bloom.  
  
Dark night closed around her, and her small fire seemed pitifully  
inadequate against the night. Suddenly she heard the cawing of a crow  
and with a start she looked up at the black cloaked figure beside  
her. She looked back down at her small fire as anger built inside her  
at the old woman's interfering presence.  
"Go away Wyrd, pester some other poor soul this night. I am in no  
mood for your foul games and fair words." The cloaked and veiled  
figure neither moved nor spoke, she waited, silent and indomitable.  
Elaine looked up at her once more, she noted the old woman seemed  
smaller than usual, more drawn into herself, as though she had lost  
something. But that was impossible. The Wyrd was a spirit, a goddess.  
She was the manifestation of fate, she could not lose a part of  
herself. Three times before in her life the Wyrd had visited Elaine,  
each time she had helped her, yet each time the aid had turned foul.  
Each time ending in a horrid experience that Elaine wanted never to  
think f again. And each time she spoke the same words-  
"You are special child." The words were spoken by a voice like a  
rustle of dry autumn leaves.  
"Go away." Elaine shut her eyes and willed away both the woman and  
the memories she brought with her, the promises she would make, the  
things she could bestow. All the blessings that would turn to  
curses. "Tell someone else your fair promises, let someone else taste  
the ashes you feed them." Her words were laced with bitterness.  
A sigh, like the wind through trees stripped bare for winter sounded  
from the spirit goddess. "You noted I am smaller, that I seemed to  
have lost something." The words were mournful, and Elaine turned her  
head slightly. To listen.  
"I have child, I gambled for a terrible prize-" her pause was laden  
with horror, one which her very essence was supplying. "The prize was  
you..." Elaine's eyes opened with a start. "and I lost."  
She stood swiftly, her long limbs unfolding swiftly and with a grace  
that was as deadly as it was beautiful. She stared around the  
clearing in shock, a crow cawed in the distance, and a sudden cold  
breeze blew over her. The Wyrd was gone.  
Without a sound the young woman settled back down by her fire, this  
time though the darkness was not only everywhere around her, it was  
inside as well, a blank emptiness that comes with all great decisions  
in life, when one chapter ends and another begins. And the question  
that repeats itself over and over again. Was this the right choice?

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	2. Inish Dreaming

**The Lady of Shalott**

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**A/N: **This chapter begins a few years before the movie and the end parts are set seven months before the movie.

_Italics indicate the knigths dreaming through Elaine's magic..._

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_Chapter I: Inish dreaming_

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Her horse walked daintily along the pristine beaches, just offshore ahead of her she saw an island covered with a forest. She almost laughed to herself as her fingers brushed over the tattoo of a Celtic knot surrounded by runes that were beneath the rough cloth that covered her stomach. The mark was a magic mark that used her own limited powers and the strength of the earth magic around her, to protect and shield her from harm, it also let her cut through illusions as though they were made of soft butter and her sight was a hot dagger cleaving it in two. If she looked directly at the island it seemed surrounded by a strange haze, as though the forest was a reflection in a pond and she had cast a stone into it. And if she looked just away she saw pristine buildings made of rock standing on it, and is she looked away, the image of a forest returned in full. She allowed herself a smile.

She had found the isle of Avalon, and it was here she would try to repay all the debts she had incurred over the years by her participation in the Woad rebellion. It was here where she would try to find her path through the world, without a sword in her hand and a crossbow strapped to her back.

She remembered suddenly a battle from a year ago, young men armed to the teeth, men who without the magic in her veins and spells worked upon her flesh in the forms of the delicate knots and runes that marked her apart would have defeated her, perhaps. The dark eyes one certainly would have. He almost looked like a Pict, only he was too tall. His hair had been a mass of dark curls, his eyes had burned with a fire she knew well, for it burned in her own, and she had known a horrible sadness, as she rammed her sword through his side.

He had been the beginning. She had taken the lives of many Romans, but on that day she had taken the life of another of her kind, a person drawn into a battle not their own because of a promise made by others. That had been a year ago; she had resolved that day that no more Sarmatians would die if she could stop it. She was in thrall to her father, her uncle and the Wyrd because her grandfather had promised them a new Battle Queen with his magic in her veins to lead their people to victory over the Romans, the Sarmations had bargained away their freedom over a century ago, or so the tale went…

She wished they could be as free as she now was. But knew that to be impossible.

As she turned onto the shallow causeway that lead to Avalon the intricate knot-work patterns on her back tingled slightly as the magic came alive…

Far away in the barracks of the Sarmation knights they began to dream…

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_He awoke with a start from his feverish dreams, his eyes darting around the room with a look of crazed wildness barely held in check. The tattoos on his cheeks seemed to burn like black marks upon his skin, his dark hair was matted with dirt and blood from where he had fallen in the forests. _

_Suddenly the memories returned. Eyes like green fire, thick wild hair the colour of the gold that was inlaid on formal Roman breastplates, A wide mouth that was more beautiful then any he had seen, hissing at him in Gaelic. And her swords, bright and shining, a broadsword in one hand, the shorter gladius in the other as she spun like the crazy dancers in the steppes to the east of his homelands. He had watched her moving amongst the other knights, like some wild animal, and he had known as she stepped before him that he could not best her, she was too good. And he realised that she knew it too, his curved sword glinted in the faint sunlight, but hers had seemed to burn._

_He tossed in the small bed as lancing agony ripped through him, someone was calling his name, but all he could see were those rich green eyes taunting him to attack, and then just before she struck the blow that had caused him to fall there had been a change to her eyes, to her face. And he knew it in that moment. She did not want to strike him down, she wanted him to strike her. And he also saw suddenly, the wildness fade from her, and he saw the truth in the way her legs seemed to long for the rest of her, of the occasional slightly off movement she made, in the way no breasts swelled beneath her armour… He knew the Inish general, the devil of the northlands, the creature before him who ripped the lives from experienced knights bodies as though she had born to do it, was just a girl._

_Just a child… He slipped back into his fevered night dreams

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_Arthur had looked around the room with tears burning in his eyes. Half his knights were dead, of the nine who still lived three lay in this room. And there was a terrible thing. Each of them had faced her, that blue painted wild thing known as the Inish general. She moved like the tales his mother had told him of the Battle Queen Bodicea, Her eyes even across a battlefield had found his. And he had seen in them an ability that frightened him, she could murder without thought at that moment, but he also saw that she was no older than some of his knights had been when he first saw them, it had been then he had heard her scream in the native language._

_The words that had made his blood run cold as ice water as she stood over two of his fallen knights. "They're not Romans, leave them be!" she had cried as she stood over Tristan and Lancelot, her swords red with their blood, and the blood of others she had killed. Percival, Trevian… Their names made him ill to think of them. They had served two-thirds of their time in Briton, to have their lives ripped away by a girl wearing the tattoos that marked her as a follower of the Wyrd… _

_The Wyrd, even after all the years since when he had seen the olde woman she still made his heart race, he had gripped his father's sword, and at the edge of the field in the Shadows he heard words, soft spoken in his mother's tongue._

_"You are too late boy." But still the sword had pulled free, the figure in the shadows had disappeared, and all he was left with was the knowledge that the old woman who had told his mother she would die to resurrect Excalibur had watched him, and done nothing._

_Even after all the years that separated him from that encounter he still felt his fear. And the Inish general recalled that fear to him. He looked down at Lancelot, his friend was battling the marks she had left on him with her long-sword. His breathing was ragged and a raging fever sucked his body dry. _

_The Romans and Britons alike referred to the fiery haired warrior as the 'devil general' for she struck without warning, decimating any Romans who encountered her, often with one deadly strike, but always leaving some alive with the marks of her swords upon their flesh. He had thought long and hard why she would leave alive men whom she could have killed. He had thought before the battle in the woods three days before that it was because she had thought them dead. He knew better now._

_She left them alive to tell her story, each opponent she faced was deathly afraid of her before they even saw how she handled her weapons, and once they saw the sharp metal blurring through the air in a mad dance they were doomed._

_He knew that if he faced her he would be lying in one of the cots before him, fighting for his life. If anyone posed a threat to his remaining knights it was the girl who had called her pack off today, and with a salute to him had disappeared into the forests, leaving the remaining knights to gather their dead and wounded in despair…

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_Lancelot had seen him fall, Tristan's knees had buckled first, then he had dropped his precious sword and then slowly he keeled over sideways. He remembered hearing the woman who stood over his friend screaming something. A long sentence followed by a shorter one. He remembered the Woad who was facing him suddenly begin to retreat, he remembered cutting the man down. He remembered facing the Inish general. He remembered her eyes, they were dark green, but they seemed filled with tears, he remembered how strange he thought it that she should have called off her compatriots, and how strange that her eyes seemed filled with an infinite sadness, as though the world was to dark and horrible for her to contemplate. He remembered the way she fought him, her swords moving while her eyes stared into space, her thoughts had been elsewhere, and yet she was holding him off. Suddenly she spun away from him. _

_"Enough." She said in Latin. He had paused as she looked at him. She began to turn away, he took a single after he and suddenly he felt pain explode from his side, more pain then he had ever known. And all he remembered thinking was that her green eyes were watching him with pity as he fell, and then with the glint of gold from her hair, she saluted him. And disappeared into the forest like one of the Devil ghosts she was named for...

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_Seven months ago:_

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The sound of a fountain echoed through the small garden where she sat, her face as always buried in another book. This one was some long dead Roman's book. His name was Marcus Aurelius, a Roman Emperor and General who had died in 180 A.D. ending a golden period for Rome, his book was called 'meditations' and was more philosophy than strategy or pompous self important promotion of the emperor's own 'brilliance as most of the other Roman books on earlier Emperor's of Rome had been.

She spun to her feet suddenly as she heard a rustle of cloth behind her seat. Her warrior's instincts had come instantly to the fore as she looked at the elderly woman who stood opposite her. Viviane was a small dark haired Pict woman with faded grey-blue eyes and had the faintest of aura's to Elaine's eyes. A soft glow caused by her innate abilities with magic. At that moment though Elaine noted another thing in the woman's eyes, bitter sorrow. Elaine waited, the priestess would speak if she had something to say, if she did not she would simply continue on her way.

The eyes studied her, roving over her face and body, noting the fact that the soft white shift that she wore seemed out of place on her muscular form, the delicate embroidery seemed to mock the rest of her appearance.

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Viviane looked at the flaming gold hair, it would not stay in braids for long, and thus stuck out haphazardly around Elaine's heart shaped face. The girl's eyes had not become softer as time passed, and the wild look in them had not faded, no matter what attempts any of the sisters made the girl was still attached spiritually by promises and the tattoos branded onto her skin to the warrior's way, startle her and you would find he moving immediately to a defensive crouch, the nearest weapon of any sort seeming to spring into her grip. Even relaxed and just watching as she was now, the girl's entire body was still ready to spring into the attack if necessary.

It was saddening to Viviane as she roved to the slender hands, the calluses had faded but there was still a deadly strength in them.

"You will not find what you seek here."

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Elaine watched the woman move away in the one of the buildings, a frown on her forehead, and her thoughts in a tumult.

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Lancelot awoke with a small cry from his nightmare. Bright green eyes still burned at him from memory. He looked around his room and waited for his breathing to slow. The same dream again. That single word she had spoken echoing through his mind. _'Enough'

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	3. Rescue, escape, vision and bargain

**The Lady of Shalott

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A/N: Finally we get some interaction! squeal I have fast forwarded to the movie, the back-story will be told in flash backs etc... Please give me some nice reviews!

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_Chapter II: Rescue, escape, vision and bargain.

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_"You will not find what you seek here…" _Pain. Cold. She was in pain and she was very cold. Her shoulders ached, her hands were twisted, and her ribs screamed agony with every breath. Yet she was alive. To be thankful for that was what she had been taught, Viviane had often told her that every darkness must end, and a new day would dawn. Yet this darkness seemed perpetual and unending. Her eyes opened slowly, their green depths taking in the room where she hung at a glance. With each breath her chains slowly rotated her, with each moment the world grew less near her. She wondered vaguely whether the Wyrd would come and see her handiwork, whether the olde woman would be even more sunken within herself at the failure of her plain. A smile touched her bloody lips. And she let her head rest on her chest again. Her eyes looked at the dirty cloth that still clung to her skin, more through the blood and dirt mixed with sweat that covered her than through the cloths still being cloth.

Suddenly a cool breeze slipped over her. She raised her head as she swung past the small Christian altar against one side of the chapel where they had put her. She drifted round and round, a living spirit amongst the dead, the only figure hanging from the ceilings and walls who still breathed, if barely. A ghostly smile opened her lips, causing her lips to split open once more and fresh blood to weep down her chin. The end was coming, she could hear the shouts from outside. She sighed, wondering what poor souls had been dragged within the dungeon.

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Lancelot drew his sword as he followed his commander through the archway. The first thing Lancelot noted was the stench, a mixture of death and decay, human fisces and blood, with scents of moldy straw and wet mud mixed in with the odor of human sweat. It raised bile to his mouth, and then he saw the first one. Arthur had raised a torch. Lancelot lit another from his, not taking his eyes from the lifeless corpse that hung from the wall. 

"Gawain." He said, handing the knight another torch he had lit from his own before moving deeper into the stench-filled darkness. From ahead came the sound of chanting, praying. Lancelot's face twisted with bitterness as a man in monk's robe appeared.

"Who are these defilers of the Lord's temple?" he asked, righteous indignation coloring his words. With a hard shove he sent the man away.

"Out of my way!" he said harshly as he followed Arthur into a larger chamber, Lifting his torch he looked around the eerie room, silent now, full of those who would never speak again, contorted against the walls or hanging from the ceiling.

"The work of your god," he said as he saw the archway overhung with a crucifix. Arthur's eyes turned to him, their haunted depths filled with horror. "Is this how he answers your prayers?" Arthur blinked before turning away, his face etched against the light from his torch.

"See if there's any still alive." He ordered unnecessarily. Lancelot looked around as Chains were shattered to reveal more dead bodies amidst it all a sound reached his ears, a swinging noise. A chain being twisted. He paused as Arthur opened one of the small cells that lined the walls by breaking the chains that held the iron door in place.

"How dare you set foot in this holy place!" the man was mad, he had grabbed Lancelot's breast plate, the knight felt his sword slide through the man before he shoved him aside. He looked up to see the other monks watching him.  
"There was a man of god." A balding one said, his eyes alight with fanatical madness.

"Not my god." Lancelot growled with a slight movement of his sword.

"This one's dead." came Dagonet's voice from the other side of the room. Lancelot started forwards, his steps taking him past Arthur as Gawain replied.

"By the smell they are all dead," he then threatened the remaining monks, But Lancelot was not paying attention, he spared Arthur a glance as his commander opened a cage and leaned down at the sight of movement. The creaking chains were ahead, inside the chapel, sparing a glance behind he saw the monks start towards them. But Gawain put a sword to one of them monk's neck and they paused, he turned and slipped into a small tunnel, which he had to lower his head to get through, he saw blood on the floor, dried into the stone.  
And then he stepped into a candle lit room and looked up.

Hanging from the beams that held up the ceiling hung dozens of bodies, most from their appearance dead for weeks, though none as old as some of the desiccated corpses in the other rooms. Most wore pale shift-like dresses, and were young women, in fact they were all women of varying ages. He moved through them with his horror spreading. He had seen murder and battlefields, he had buried men he considered his brothers… But this was not a battlefield of impassioned death, this was deliberate, slow, calculated murder of women and children.

"Arthur!" his cry was hoarse, but he knew his commander would hear him, and he knew he would come. Slowly he made his way through the bodies, checking for any that might still be alive, with each body his anger mounted, despite their death many were still young girls, almost all wore shifts that would once have been white, and on them the girls had embroidered small mountain flowers, or in one case a seagull, or that's what he thought it was.

Then he saw a glint of gold ahead. He paused and stepped to the side so that one of the bodies, that of a small girl child from what he could tell shifted out of his line of sight and he stopped, still his breath catching in his lungs. Back lit by banks of candles was a figure dressed in the remains of a white dress, hair that reflected the candles light hug from her bowed head as she rotated around towards him. Her dress had been turned to a few strips of cloth that hung around her, long legs covered in blood and dirt hovered just off the ground, and then she moved. He jerked back and hit another of the bodies. He let out a grunt as he swung away from the body of a young woman whose sightless eyes stared down at him.

He turned back and saw the girl had rotated away again. The tattered remain of her gown showed him pale skin marked with intricate knot-work tattoos, in between the grimy curls that reached down past her waist. He legs he saw had long snake like tattoos on them ending in knot-work around each ankle and across her slender feet he saw as she came around towards him again. His hand gripped a section of her dress, it was crusted with blood so much so that it's color had been changed as he tried to halt her movement the cloth fell apart beneath his fingers and she spun away, his touch having sent her spinning and weaving like a drunkard on her creaking chains.

He sheathed his sword and gripped her as she went past again. A snarl broke from her bleeding lips and he felt the way her breathing was labored beneath his hands around her ribs. Carefully he held her still, looking up into lucid eyes that stared at him in agony, they were bright green and lit with their own inner flame he thought, the golden hair fell onto his shoulders, behind him heard a soft set of footsteps. Heard Arthur's whispered words as his friend took in the bodies of the women and children.

Then he saw the reflected gleam from Excalibur as his friend raised the sword. The green eyes opened wide in what he thought for a strange instant was exultation. And then she was crumpling into his arms, her still bound hands around his neck. Gently he lifted her into his arms and turned slowly to his captain. Arthur had already moved on. His sword knocked down some of the candles, the cloth behind the crucifix on the wall caught fire with a whoosh. And Arthur turned away, his grim face dark and foreboding as he lead Lancelot back through the swinging bodies.

* * *

He was looking down at her with tenderness, as he cried for water. The world spun around as the harsh outside light lanced into her eyes. She hid her face against his cold breastplate, but he coaxed her away, his fingers forcing her mouth open, water dripped into her mouth, she swallowed, swallowed and coughed weakly. She was standing she realized, her legs shook beneath her and one of his arms supported most of her weight, but her feet were touching the earth. 

Suddenly her tattoos burned with spirit magic causing her to cry out, a hoarse shout that startled her savior. She took too gulping breaths and shivered, snow was falling from the sky, like gentle ghosts they eddied in the air. She looked down slightly, a pair of dark eyes regarded her with compassion overlaying a disgusted anger that made her want to weep.

"Your safe now." He told her softly. His vice was soft and rich at the same time. She nodded slightly. Somewhere someone said.

"Their Woads..." she shivered as she heard a sword sliding against a scabbard, he noticed her shiver and pulled her closer, pulling her clser he drew his dark cloak around her shoulders. Horses neighed, and their was the sund of men in armor moving around her. Then a voice cried out harshly against the softer noises that had surrounded her in the darkness of the dungeon.

"Stop what you are doing!" The dark eyed man turned around, her half-cradled in his embrace, she looked over her shoulder at man wearing a Roman toga in rich fabrics. Another man, one she recognized strode over from where another prisoner lay on the ground, a Roman woman kneeling by her head, blue tattoos streaked down her legs Elaine noted.

"What is this madness?" asked a tall man in Roman armor. The other gave him a furious glare and looked past him, he saw her and she felt his anger wash over her.

"They are all Pagans here!" the Roman noble cried his eyes never leaving her.

"So are we…" said a deadly soft voice from nearby. The Roman's eyes turned away at that.

"They refuse to do the task God has set for them! They must die as an example!" he cried as though it were obvious. The Roman commander advanced on him angrily.

"You mean they refused to be your serfs!" he responded in a dangerous tone. She knew that voice she realised with a start, together with his face she knew his name.

"Arthur..." she whispered her voice barely above a croak, but her rescuer heard her, his eyes looking down at her in surprise.

"You are a Roman. You understand." Cried the Roman lord. "And you are a Christian!" he added, angrily, he glanced to his side where the Roman woman was caring for one of the others from the dungeon. "You!" he said as the Woman looked up at him. Elaine recognised her as the robed woman who had brought water and food into the dungeons. "You kept them alive!" he lashed out, catching her on the cheek with a sharp crack.

The Roman officer exploded into action, knocking down the Roman and placing his sword at the mans neck as the other Knights came menacingly closer. The red cloaked mercenaries who served him moved forwards but their employer waved them away.

"No, No! Stop!" he then turned his eyes upon the Arthur. "When we get to the Wall, you will be punished for this heresy." He said, his voice angry. Arthur reached down and hauled up the Roman, his sword pressed against the roman's throat.

"Then perhaps I should kill you now, and seal my fate!" he growled sternly. At that moment one of the Monks started forwards, she noted the lecherous bastard who had ordered her beaten, while he prayed for her soul...

* * *

Lancelot felt the weak body in his arms tense as the monk began to speak, her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl. He was balancing most f her weight on his left arm, his cloak pulled tightly around her. 

"I was willing to die with them." He looked between Arthur and the tw Women, Lancelot noticed the darker, smaller woman watching the woman he held in his own grasp with and indecipherable expression. "Yes, to lead them to their rightful place." His words were filled with fanatical belief in what he was saying. "It is God's wish that these sinners be sacrificed." The mad monk continued, turning his eyes to the grey heavens, as a soft booming noise shivered through the air. "Only then can their souls be saved." The soft booms of Saxon drums shook the very air.

"We don't have souls." The words issued from the tall woman in his arms. Arthur turned as she turned away from Lancelot. "We don't have souls," she repeated. "so we don't need your sacrifice." A smile brushed across her lips. She pulled away from Lancelot, pulling her arms from around his neck, she held the bound hands in front of her as she took shaking steps towards the monk, Lancelot followed the barely dressed figure, whose blue knot-work tattoos were visible beneath her tattered dress. She clasped the monk, her thumbs gently caressed the terrified mans face.

"Stay away witch!" he said, his voice wavering in fear. She gave a slight smile to the man, a wolfish grin.

"I forgive you." She whispered softly, the man terrified man stumbled back as she swayed on her feet, suddenly she crumpled backwards, fainting into Lancelot's arms. Arthur stepped close, helping Lancelot pull the unconscious woman into his arms.

"If it truly be gods wish..." he said turning back to the monk, "then I shall grant it," He turned back to his knights and the Picts who looked on. "Wall them back up!" he ordered.

"Arthur." Warned Tristan softly as the Saxon drums grew closer.

"I said wall them back up!" commanded Arthur, his voice brooking no opposition. Lancelot turned away, the unconscious body slumped in his arms, he noted the other woman had also collapsed in the Roman woman's arms.

He moved towards the wagons which had been drawn up.

"Knight!" He turned as the Roman women came after him, he saw Arthur and Dagonet following her. "Please, this way." Said the kind faced woman, as she lead him towards a wagon covered by rough cloth. Carefully the three knights placed their charges inside the roughly made Wagon. Lancelot pulled himself inside and removed his black cloak, he placed the warm wool on the slender, long-limbed woman, whose bruised face was relaxed in unconscious oblivion. He realised he recognised her heart shaped face, though from where he knew no. He backed out of the wagon and turned away, as he churned through his memories, searching for the reason her rich eyes and, face pinched with starvation seemed familiar to him.

* * *

She awoke in a dim swaying place. Her heart pounded as she realised she was being watched. Slowly she turned her face, her eyes seeking the one who watched her. She felt her chest contract as she looked into a pair of brown eyes, rimmed with darkness and filled with pain. 

"Elaine." Her voice was deeper than I remembered. Richer, more bitter. Her eyes were dark and filled with the same wild passion as always. Slowly I propped my self up, a black cloak falls from where it had been tucked around me. I frowned at the soft wool cloak, sorting through my memories of the rescue from the dungeon. Finally I look over at Guinevere, she is watching me with a mixture of disbelief and anger. I can see it in her clenched jaw. A soft sigh escapes me.

"Guinevere." I finally reply, she moves her head a slight nod.

"You remember me." She says, her richer vice harshly angry. It hurts my already pounding head. I close my eyes as the world spins around me.

"Yes cousin, of course I remember you." My words are rasping as my mouth, that has done nothing but curse and scream attempts to form words. She smiles slightly.

"So tell me cousin. What did they take you for? It can't have been much, since you've sworn never to fight again." her words were riddled with contempt. Elaine let her eyes rest angrily on her contemptuous cousin.

"Something more important than what they took you for Guinevere." She moved slowly gathering the warm black cloak around her. In the entrance of the wagon sits a tall Knight, tending the small boy. She let a slight smile touch her face, she had shared a cell with the little boy when he first came in, for only a few hours before they had dragged her off for another torture session. He blinked at her and returned her smile.

"Elaine." He said very softly. "Look, the Inish came." The knight looked statled as the boy pointed at him.

"What'd he say?" he asked her, knowing from earlier she spoke a language he understood.

"I'm not sure." She frowned at the boy and asked him in Gaelic. "What do you mean ... Lucan" she paused to remember his name.

"You were sick, you said the inish would come, that the Inish would save me." He said, his words slightly slurred as his lashes fluttered.

"Why is he speaking of the devil ghosts?" the man asked, she looked at him and noted a slight alarm in the man's eyes. And she knew why, as the 'Devil general' she had taken the lives of several of his comrades. And for years before that it had been said that any Roman venturing north of the wall would be captured by the Inish and killed, that they were beautiful women, who sang in haunted voices, summoning soldiers to their deaths. She looked into the man's eyes and _felt _his superstitious fear.

"He said he waited long for you. That he was told his saviors would come." She looked back at the boy, scrutinizing the way he looked and thinking over his words. She pulled the dark haired knights cloak tighter around herself. And slipped past the big man, for a moment she thought he would tell her she was too weak, but when he looked into her eyes he let her be.

She looked outside, it was after midday and in the distance drums boomed. Saxons. Her lip curled in disgust. The Saxons were nothing but murdering animals and she'd killed enough of them in her time.

"Elaine!" Guinevere called as she swung herself off the wagon, her bare feet struck the icy ground and she paused a moment, a word of power escaped her lips and the cold faded away. Around her animals paused and the horses snorted and shied as they felt the sudden snap in the air, and not from the chill. Her tattoos burned warmly, heating her flesh beneath the warm cloak, as her unshod feet found the soft dirt beneath the snow and summoned it's gentle magic. Slowly she looked around, the Knight's she knew would be at the head and end of the convoy and that she would have t move quickly to avoid being seen. She looked up Guinevere's wagon had passed her by she looked to the other side of the trail and moved between two of the slowly moving wagons.

She saw Arthur and the dark haired knight talking, she looked into the snow-laden forest and moved swiftly into it.

* * *

"We're moving too slow. The girl's are not going to make it and neither is the boy." Lancelot said as he pulled alongside his commander. His words were spoken with a certain amount of exasperation and a hint of pity. He no more wanted to leave the people behind than Arthur did but he was more pragmatic than Arthur would ever be and so he said them. "The family we can protect, but we're wasting time with all these people-" Arthur interrupted him shortly. 

"We're not leaving them." His words were spoken with the quiet assurance that he would be obeyed, but also with the assurance that he understood what Lancelot was saying.

"If the Saxons find us, we _will_ have to fight." Lancelot said with a mixture of sadness and anger, that their lives were to be gambled in such a way. His unease about the mission had only been increased with the added burden of all the villagers and more particularly the two woad women. The dark one seemed fairly ordinary, if unusually beautiful, but the other one... She raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Then save your anger for them." Arthur was saying as Lancelot shivered slightly. Lancelot looked over at his friend. He knew why this mattered so much to Arthur, so he gave voice to it.

"Is this Rome's quest? Or Arthur's?" he asked softly. His friend looked at him reproachfully, so Lancelot turned his horse away, his commander started off after the wagons and Lancelot looked back down the line. His mouth dropped open, a figure in a dark cloak he knew well with a stream of tangled golden locks falling over it slipped into the woods... And simply disappeared. He cursed the Woadish ability to disappear into woods as though a part of them and started after her.

* * *

She slipped through the silence of the woods, small animals paused at her coming, but sensing the power in her didn't run, they knew she would not harm them. Like the ghosts she was named after she paralleled the road the convoy was using awhile and then finding a clearing she knew would be there and entered it. A ring of dark grey boulders cloaked in snow formed an imperfect circle. Two 'gates' had been made into the circle by placing a long boulder atop two others high enough for a tall man to walk through and two too walk abreast. 

She paused and moved t a toppled boulder at the side of the clearing. It was a strange shape, and fr some reason there was a spot beside it uncovered in snow. Using her hands she made the space bigger then setteled upon the grund to wait. She closed her green eyes and went deep within herself, seeking the place of power, readying herself to summon the Wyrd when darkness fell. It was because of this she neither heard nor saw the dark haired knight's approach.

* * *

Lancelot followed the small tracks with ease, they were barely their but the deep soft snow made it fairly easy to track the young woad. He had dismounted his horse however to see her steps more clearly and be sure of them, for her footsteps barely left an impression in the snow. He knew well enugh that without it he would not be able to find any trace of her. He was surprised when she paralleled the knights chosen course, but soon enough she branched off, he realised she was following a path, for no underbrush obscured her direct line of walk. 

He saw ahead a clearing in the gloom, that opened ut to reveal a circle of stones, with two gated stone arch ways one facing north and one south. He shivered, but not from the cold, although he was missing his cloak, but because of what this place was. It was a Pict holy place. He glanced around and spied her seated next to a small boulder, he could see she had cleared snow frm around the base f the boulder so she might sit in cofort, his cloak was pulled tigth arund her.

His breath thugh was caught in his thrat when he saw her face tilted back against the boulder. No tattoo's marked the milky clear complexion of her face, and despite a purple bruise upon her forehead and a split lip she still exuded and aura of beauty. And while her features were unusual it was more the way her bright eyes had pierced into him as though they were daggers that made his pulse race. He took a deep breath to gather his wits before speaking.

"I didn't rescue you just t have you die of exposure you know." He told her. To his amazement she started and looked around in surprise. He let his horses rein drop, knowing his beast would not wonder and approached the woman, who eyed him warily. "Unless you think some god is going to come and rescue you..." he said with a wave towards the stone circle. He looked back at her and was surprised to see a smile gracing her lips, it wasn't much of a smile, but it lit up her green eyes, and they sparked like lightening with mirth. But as soon as it had come the smile faded, a frown replacing it.

"You should go back." She said, her voice still raspy. It had lilting accent to it which he found sweet to the ear. An accent that explained her vibrant coloring. The pict in the main were a small dark people, like most of the peoples of britain, whist the Irish to the west were a vibrant unusual bunch, with gay eyes in rich blues and greens and often with flaming hair, or dark hair and pale blue eyes. In fact they were a more attractive people than their Pict and Welsh cousins were, yet related without a doubt.

He ignored her words as he crouched beside her, she regarded him with curious eyes, obviously not understanding his intentions. "I think..." he began softly. "That I know you." He saw a brief reaction in her eyes, a hint of amazement and... perhaps sadness. Anther smile touched her lips, this one though was bitter and sad.

"Perhaps you are mistaken." She told him, but he shook his head, for hours now he had been considering her, and he knew where he had last seen a tall red haired Wad, with eyes like some magical fire and detailed knot-work tattoos.

"Inish." He said softly. Suddenly a haunting note came through on the wind, the trees around them seemed to draw closer at the word and he looked up startled. She looked at him with eyes that were weary and sad.

"Yes." She looked away a moment before turning her face back to him. "How is your side?" she asked her fingers brushing against the side of his armor. He looked down, surprised she remembered where she had wounded him.

"Better than it was." Was all he said. She nodded.

"Will you kill me now? She asked, seemingly only vaguely curius, and not in the least disturbed by the notion. He drew back slightly.

"I am not in the habit of expending time and energy to save someone, just to kill them." He gave her a wolfish grin. "Beside, you spared me all those years ago, I should return the favour." Her eyes truly widened at that, her mouth opening slightly.

"How did you know?" she asked softly.

"Lady, I'm not s conceited to think I could best you. I've never seen anything like the way you fight." She gave him a slight grimace of a smile.

"I am no lady, I am Elaine. And as for my fighting Sir Knight, it is an ancient style not often used now." He smiled.

"And I shall soon enough be no knight. I am Lancelot, And I shan't kill you this day, Elaine." He smiled at her but she was looking over his shoulder, she gave him a slight smile and a sigh.

* * *

"I doubt you could anyway." She whispered as the Wyrd raised her wizened hands and released a sleeping spell. He gave her a look of confusion and then moved to turn around, but as he did all his muscles relaxed and he slumped back against her. Carefully she rested him against the boulder. 

"You came." She said as she faced the olde woman. The veiled head nodded.

"I came." She repeated. Nearby her crow cawed loudly.

"You told the boy that the Inish would save him. What did you mean?" she asked, knowing she would dislike any answer.

"I meant what I said, the boy was an imperfect messenger though." She sensed the olde goddess' smile. "But the message at least got you to come." She turned away, moving into the circle of stone. After a moment Elaine moved after her. "What I told the boy is that the Inish would save the people, that she would give all for them, and save their lives." The olde woman's voice had the rhythmic quality of true prophecy.

"What is the price?" The olde woman spun around more quickly than an old woman should be able.

"Price?" she asked softly, a dangerous edge to her voice. Elaine smiled ruefully.

"Every time I have done as you asked there has been a price. My mother's death, you told me I could stop it, in reality you made sure I could not." She moved closer t the olde woman, circling her, on legs made stronger by the magic that filled the ancient stones around her. "The Saxon attack, you told me about it, you warned me that Loran would be in danger, you didn't tell me he would die." She stopped. "my father. You told me what would happen if the boy died, of those who would die because he would be dead and unable t stop their slaughter, you didn't tell me the price I would have to pay for his life..." she paused. "would be to kill my own father..." her words were a whisper. The olde woman did not move, made no sound.

"So, I ask again, what is the price that must be paid?" The olde woman took two steps towards her, and Elaine could feel her black glittering eyes watching her.

"I will show you the price... Of failure." Her hands made a sharp gesture and before Elaine could react an invisible hand had grabbed her and shoved her around, she was falling, falling, falling...

* * *

Fire lit a battlefield beneath a grey sky, around her a mixture of mist and smoke formed a barrier betwixt her and those she could hear crying out, the swords that clashed and the screams that sounded from those who fought.

Suddenly she became aware of someone behind her, she spun to see the tattooed knight upon his knees, she watched as a silver sword struck him from behind, she watched him falling to the soft earth. And looked away, her eyes stopping on the sight of Lancelot, her dark-eyed savior, he was staring at her with a mixture of pain and child-like confusion, and from his breast an arrow shaft extended. She backed away in horror as he fell to his knees, but as she looked away, she saw Guinevere crawling backwards from a Saxon, a mixture of defeat and pride warring on her cousins face.

She turned away, not wanting to see the end of her cousin, instead she watched as Arthur was driven to his knees, then smoke billowed across him and she turned away again as tears stung her eyes. She watched as young Woads were cut down, as a knight was pulled from his horse...

"Stop!" she cried. "Enough!" but the images kept coming, she saw Lancelot on his knees, his eyes looking at her in amazement before looking down in confusion at the arrow, as if he wondered at his legs buckling beneath him. "No, No, No!" she sobbed, as a young woad was struck down by a crossbow bolt to his chest, his bdy lying next to the knight wh had once been his enemy.

"Enough!" she cried again as she herself was driven to her knees amongst bodies painted with blue and blood. "I'll do it! Whatever it is I'll do it Wyrd! For their lives I will do what you ask!" She looked at the dark haired knight before her. "For their lives..." she sobbed. 

* * *

The Wyrd watched the woman's tears. She looked abve her head at the dark haired knight. She had thught he might have that effect. For the moment all they felt was a subtle attraction, but it was so much more, it was fate, destiny. It was... Wyrd. She tilted her head t one side as the woman shuddered as the vision let g of her. 

"I'll do it." She said, her green eyes piercing the Wyrd. The olde woman nodded. She felt an almost pain sweep through her. All the things she had shown Elaine were unchangeable, but she didn't have to know that, she just had to be Inish, 'Devil General' of the North, the Lady of Shalott one last time, it would seal her fate as Arthur's advisor and servant, and she would never look back. And she would likely never use the magic again, not once Lancelot was dead, for a part of Elaine would die with him at Badon hill. It couldn't be helped, for the only other choice was for Elaine to perish in his place, and that the Wyrd would never allow.

"Come then, you must look the part..." with obvious reluctance the tall woman climbed to her feet and with a glance at the sleeping knight for whose life she was going to break a vow followed the Wyrd to the stone in the center of the circle. Hidden beneath snow and dirt it's magic came alive and tingled through the frigid air.

Reviews:

**MagentaLee: **(interesting name) I based some of my stuff on books I've read i.e. Terry Brooks' 'The Word and the Void' series, David Gemmell's 'Rigante' book's, Shakespeare's 'Macbeth' if you would believe it! And on folk tales and myths both handed down through my family (I'm half-Irish/half-Scottish) and from books I have read on the Celts and their mythical beliefs. I also took the 'magical tattoo' idea from Janny Wurts' book "To ride Hells gate"(could have name wrong). Is that a long enough explanation? If not e-mail me!

**2pnkrck4ths:** Don't say that! I always thought I was a really bad writer, but I'm getting better! (very slowly) I hope this update was quick enough!

**lindalee4:** Yep, Elaine has met up with the knights again! Glad your enjying the story!

Throws Candy for all lovely reviewers

Please _bats eyelashes_ review...


	4. To Atone

**The Lady of Shalott**

* * *

A/N: Hmm. This is a MAMMOTH chapter. I am deadly tired. LOVE REVIEWERS!!!! hmm anything else? Oh yes! Please leave me a review, they give my happy fluffy feelings!!! _hands candy to reviwers_

* * *

_Chapter III: To atone_

* * *

"Arthur." Said Dagonet, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, edged with respect and admiration, and a gentleness that was in such contrast with his decidedly dark aspect. Arthur nodded to his faithful knight as he pulled himself inside the dim wagon.

"How is he?" he asked softly. As he took in the small boy who slept fitfully next to Dagonet.

"He burns." Said the tall knight, his words filled with tenderness and kindness. "Brave boy." Arthur felt a smile tug at his lips before he looked inside the wagon, he frowned at the empty space where the flame haired Woad had been put. But all thoughts of her fled as he looked down at the pitiful figure of the other Woad. She kept her face turned away but he could see the tear marks on her face as she sniffled pitiably. After a moment she glanced up at him, eyes filled with suspicion.

He took her hand and she stiffened, gently he unwrapped the bandages. He looked down at her twisted fingers.

"Some of your fingers are out of place." He said slowly and calmly, unsure how much of what he said she would understand. "I have to push them back." He saw in the spark of fear in her eyes that she understood perfectly. "If I don't do this, there's a chance you may never use them again." He added at the panicked look in her eye. Gently he covered her smaller hands with his own, as gently as he could he pressed her fingers back into place.

She breathed heavily before a muffled scream uttered from her mouth. But it too was softer and more pitiful than a true cry of agony. After a moment he turned away, his eyes flitting towards the empty blankets once more.

"He tortured me. With machines." He turned back, they were barely inches apart and he felt his heart hammering madly. "He made me tell him things I didn't know to begin with." Tears sparkled in her dark eyes. Bitter pain in her words as she slumped against him. "And then," she slowly pulled herself up too look him in the eye, her voice filled with wondrous amazement. "I heard your voice in the dark." She paused as he studied her, she was really very lovely beneath the grime and pain and starvation. "I'm Guinevere." The name swirled through his mind. It was a pretty name, he thought. That was stupid thing to think he then reprimanded himself.

"You're Arthur, of the knights from the great Wall." She said softly, as though what she said could not be quite true.

"I am." Was all he could think of to say as her dark eyes bored into his. Suddenly they were filled with passion that brought them truly to life.

"Famous Briton who kills his own people." She said softly as she stared at him, slowly she leant against him, her strength failing her as she slumped down...

* * *

"Arthur!" Tristan called, his vice held a mixture of worry and aggravation that made Arthur dread his news even before he turned his horse. The scout approached with a frown upon his face.

They pulled over too one side. "You asked me to find girl." Said Tristan shortly, and before he spoke Arthur knew the scout had not found her. "She is gone. So is Lancelot." Arthur jumped in his saddle, startling his horse.

"What?" he cried horror and anger mixing in his expression. "Where?" he demanded sharply, his eyes scanning the caravan, wishing in vain for the handsome young man to appear. The scout only shrugged. His eyes looking around at the brooding forests through which they were travelling.

"Something's not right." Was his only reply. Arthur joined his watching. The forests seemed strangely silent as the snow fell softly, they seemed like ghosts.

"What is it?" he asked softly. Tristan gave him an inscrutable look.

"The woman..." he began. "She was Inish." Arthur blinked and suddenly he remembered, all those years ago, the intricate tattoos, the brilliant green eyes, all the way across the battlefield.

"Oh god..." he breathed. He remembered the heartless general who he and his knights had tried to defeat for years, most of the time all they would see was the dead the woman left behind. Some of the knights, Dagonet in particular were deathly afraid of the supposed witch, he then thought of the young woman who had forgiven the priest in rags, the marks f torture clear upon her flesh.

The two images were incompatible, yet the same. He could not deny it was the same woman. He looked up at Tristan. "What do you think?" he asked without elaborating, it was unnecessary. Tristan gave him a look that hinted with at his sadness.

"I think Woad run, Lancelot follow." The scout shook his head. "Lancelot will catch up soon, or he is dead." Arthur shook his head.

"Oh god."

* * *

Lancelot was asleep. Deeply asleep. He tried to fight it, the image of a black cloaked and veiled figure in the stones... Elaine... Stone circle. Suddenly he was awake, his eyes blinked open and he tried desperately to make sense of the jumble of images in his mind, he stumbled to his feet, he felt the snow fell from his legs. Gods, how long had he been asleep? Shaking away the last of his sleep, he remembered the old woman. He frowned and stumbled towards the stone circle and stopped, his breath stopping in his lungs.

Her heart-shaped face with its enormous green eyes turned on him. Brilliant flame hair was still damp, pulled up and backwards apart from soft tendrils that snaked around her face, across her back was strapped a long-sword, two shorter swords were strapped to her hips, along with an impressive number of small throwing blades. Across her back was slung a small double headed cross bow with two small quarrels upon it. He stared from it to the scanty braided leather that covered her crest in bands, allowing the full extent of her tattooing to be visible. No paint had been applied and her skin gleamed white in the soft light apart from a slight purpling across one side of her ribs, and the silvery scars that criss-crossed her skin. Her short leather skirt revealed her long sender legs, and the tattoos that marked her all the way down to the leather sandals strapped to her feet, with leather ties that strapped up her calves to her knees, with slender scabbards upon them.

He looked back up to her face in amazement, the split lip and bruising n her brow were still their, but they seemed faded next to the incredible machine of death arrayed before him.

She gave him a sad little smile, and he saw she had been crying. He started into the circle and paused, there was a strange sensation in the air. And she turned fully towards him. He long legs swiftly closed the distance between; she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I would be proud to fight with you Lancelot, If you would fight by my side." He shook his head and gestured at her-

"How-?" he asked breathlessly. The sad little smile lit her face again. She shook her head and her hand moved, stealing over his lips to hush him.

"Do not disturb the magic with questions." Her words were soft and reverent. Slowly he backed from the circle with her matching him step for step. Slowly he turned around at her instruction and stared, his mouth agape and the beautiful creature that stood beside his own horse. It was a great horse, a stallion it seemed, with great blue eyes that fairly gleamed with intelligence. He had a simplistic saddle and basic bridle only, these too held weapons, spears and a large bow strapped to his saddle. The great animal was at least twenty hands at the withers, nearly a foot taller than his own mount.

She stepped up beside him. She turned her head. "What I have done this day, I do in payment," slowly he turned to look him full in the face. "For the lives of knights that I have taken, for those who have died because of me, I give myself, my life to you and yours. I will serve Arthur as faithfully as you yourself do." She said, and he saw behind her words was a terrible sadness.

"I... I don't understand." She nodded.

"I know." She turned away moment, as if gathering herself. "When I was thirteen Merlin and my father took me to a place like this, an old holy site, and their I was put to sleep by olde magic." He frowned, his mind struggling to comprehend her words." She turned back to him. "There they marked me with these," she brushed her fingers across the intricate tattoos. "Binding me to this land, for you see I do not belong to this land, my magic is of another place, and they needed to ensure my loyalty," her words were bitter, suddenly he understood the pity he remembered in her eyes all those years ago. "My mother was of Ireland, and I was her child in every way, from looks to allegiance, and faith in the spirit magic's. She taught me to cherish life and seek healing and love for all beings." He raised an eyebrow and she gave him a smile.

"I see you understand. The branding, it was to change me, and it did. I was still the same in most ways, my abilities in battle were always there, I was always the fastest and strongest, the quickest of wit, but also one of the sweetest of temperament." She paused. "But they changed me. And soon after my mother was killed, I tried to save her but..." She turned away. "Whenever my better judgement took hold, the Wyrd or Merlin or my father was there to bring me back, to keep me their faithful slave." Her bitterness was overwhelming. "And for their schemes I have lost everyone I truly loved." She waved a hand at the woods. "The other woman you found... Her name is Guinevere, she is my cousin." She turned to face him. "She calls me traitor for I will not kill boy's too young to be from their mothers home, and men dragged half-way around the world to fight for a land they despise." She shook her head.

"But as always," she whispered. "The Wyrd has found something I cannot sit by and watch to make me fight for her." He shook his head, with each moment his horror had mounted, he had always thought his indenture to Rome a horrifying thing but this was unbelievable...

"Don't do it." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Whatever it is she has threatened you with, it doesn't matter, don't be her slave." She shook her head.

"It is me fighting or their lives, Lancelot." The bitterness in her voice made his chest contract painfully. "What kind of person lets others die when they may be able to prevent it." She smiled slightly. "I hardly think you would act thus?" she asked with an eyebrow raised. He nodded and found himself looking at her with fresh admiration and pride. He then turned his head to where her white mount proudly stood, seeming like a statue of marble. She lifted his cloak from around her shoulders.

"Here, I have my own now." She told him, he took the soft black cloak and pulled it around his cold armor. She pulled a thick dark grey cloak with a hood and shorter length of cloak over the top to keep her warm. The soft dove grey he knew would blend into the snowdrifts beneath trees and he could see

"Come Lancelot, your comrades will be worried for you have slept several hours." Chastened he moved to his horse. She followed him, pausing between the horses they smiled at each other, a strange bond seeming to hold them together in that moment.

"Do not fear for me Lancelot, the Wyrd won't allow me to die." Her cocky smile was not quite reassuring, for it quickly faded. He followed her great white stallion into the slowly darkening wood.

* * *

The Roman estates burned in the howling snow, the snow melting to rain and then vapor before it touched the bright flames. Cerdic wandered slowly through the camp. The small dark native strode behind him, hurrying to keep up with the taller Saxon.

"I found tracks coming from the south, but none going back." He informed the Saxon quickly, his words swift and smug. His people had called him slow and foolish. They had cast him aside in favour of a woman. Now they were going to pay. "Horsemen, traveling light and fast. Could be Roman cavalry. Could be knights." He added as an afterthought, and not a pleasant one. The hugs Saxon paused.

"They know we're after them." The huge man said with absolute certainty.

"They'll head east now. Through the mountains." said Wolth, his answer already prepared and waiting for the Saxons questions. A commotion caused the leader to start off again. They watched as several Monks were dragged from a strange door let into the wall of the estate. One of them was sobbing loudly.

"God's holy work!" He cried hysterically "They defiled- I am a servant of God-! The Witch! They, oh God the witch." he broke off as he was thrown to the ground before him. Cerdic tilted his head to one side.

"He says they walled him up in a building and took the family. Someone who goes by the name of Artulius..." the Saxon trailed off.

"It's him. It's Arthur." The scout warned. Cerdic looked from the scout to his son. His expression calculating, and icy cold.

"Take your men east. Hunt them down." He looked around at the rest of the army. "I'll take the main army to the Wall. Bring the family there." Wolth looked back at the monks.

"And the monks?" he asked.

"Put them back where you found them." He ordered.

"I am a servant of God!" shrieked the crazed Monk as he was dragged away. "I am a _servant of God!_ I am-"

Cerdic turned away with a sigh.

"Burn it all." He said as he started off through the burning estate, his army marching after him, the drums and marching feet echoing horridly.

* * *

Arthur felt ill to his stomach as the minutes swiftly turned to an hour, two hours, and no sign of his closest friend appeared. Tristan's warning that 'Woad's are watching us.' Had made him feel almost for charging into the forest, or ordering a search for his friend. He cursed the day had agreed to take this quest.

But in a strange way he cursed his friend's following the girl more, if only Lancelot were not so rash and ht-tempered, if only he brooded less...

He turned his horse back towards where the other Woad woman rode in her wagon. Dagonet told him the other had left the wagon sometime before he had come to care for the girls fingers, the Woad women said she didn't know where the other was going when she left.

He pulled his horse in beside the carriage. She was riding on the front, a warm fur pulled around her against the driving wind and snow. She watched him with her dark passionate eyes.

"My father told me great tales of you." He was surprised when she spoke.

"Really." He replied after a moment "And what did you hear?" he asked, his eyes looking into the forests wondering if he could see those Tristan said were there.

"Fairy tales." He turned his head back up to Guinevere. She seemed to be looking into the distance, into memory. "The kind you hear of people so brave, so selfless that they can't be real." Her words were filled with a mixture of awe and bitterness. "Arthur and his knights." She said sharply. "A leader both Britain and Roman. " she continued, he found an anger rising within him, mixed with curiosity as to why she proceeded to attack and chastise him, to talk of his mother. "And yet you chose your allegiance to Rome. To those that take what does not belong to them." She added after a moment. He looked away into the green forests. "That same Rome that took your men from their homeland." He turned on her sharply then.

"Listen, Lady," he began. His anger pounding at the thought of what she was implying. "Do not pretend that you know anything about me or my men." He added more calmly, controlling his temper with difficulty. He hadn't realised how much Lancelot's disappearance was unnerving him, but it was.

"How many Britons have you killed?" she asked suddenly. He looked up at her once more, fighting back an urge to turn away and leave her there with her impertinent questions.

"As many as tried to kill me." Her eyes showed a flash of hate. "It's a natural state of any man to want to live." He replied to the unspoken accusation in her stare.

"Animals live." She said derisively. "It's the natural state of any man to want to live free," her words touched something inside him, his own hatred of what was done to his men, his sadness at the way the Roman Empire expanded. "In their own country." She finished a sad note in her voice.

"I belong to this land." She added after a moment. "Where do you belong, Arthur?" she asked. He turned away, his throat stuck shut for that moment. His thought's a jumble of conflicting feelings and emotions.

"How's your hand?" he finally asked softly.

"I'll live, I promise you." She returned swiftly, her voice edged with a sarcastic twist. He swallowed as he looked up at her. She was unusually beautiful. Dark and small, with features he knew were made harsher through lack off food and water for so long. "Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart?" he was startled by the whimsical note in her voice. She suddenly seemed much younger, much more childlike. "Your own father married a Briton." She added, her voice more serious. "Even he must have found something to his liking." He looked up at her with eyes filled with a strange expression.

"Lady, tell me. Who is the other we took from the dungeon?" her dark eyes suddenly looked away, her face darkening in anger.

"She is an outcast." He raised his eyebrows. She looked into the distance with angry eyes. "She deserted her people, she betrayed them when they needed her." He frowned, turning over her words in his mind.

"We recognise her." He said. He watched her as she looked at him with wide dark eyes.

"You recognise nothing. She's not a Woad anymore." He gave her a look of surprise. "She is a... healer." She said reluctantly.

"How?" he asked, his mind now in utter confusion, his memories of her ability with strategy, and the way she had wounded his knights, he remembered that figure, brilliantly tattooed standing over his knights.

"She changed, she swore never to kill again." The words were soft. He looked up; a tear was falling down Guinevere's pale cheek. "She's my cousin." She said when she saw his surprise at her emotion. "She abandoned her people when they needed her, she..." Guinevere trailed off into silence. He closed his eyes as relief flooded through him. "Did one of you knights really go after Elaine?" she asked suddenly. He looked up at her and nodded.

"Lancelot has disappeared along with her... Elaine." The name seemed so wrong for the figure he remembered, but for the girl cradled in Lancelot's arms, the incredibly forlorn but strong in some indefinable way as she moved slowly over to the strange monk. And _forgave_ him. Suddenly for him her character suddenly came more clearly into focus. Someone brought up too hate and kill Romans turned away from hate, turned perhaps to her own character in an effort to... to ... perhaps to atone for what she had done.

Suddenly he heard his name shouted, he pulled the horse around and started back down the trail Tristan Bors and Dagonet were the trail guards.

He pulled his horse to a halt; far back down the valley through which they had climbed out of he saw something. A flash of white that Tristan did not need to point out, near it he noticed the flash of metal.

"Saxons?" he asked his flare of hope that Lancelot had been spotted dying with the repeated sign of white between the trees.

"Perhaps." Tristan seemed unsure. Suddenly he raised his hand and pointed to something else. "But I think _they_ are the Saxons." He noticed something else, another rider or riders following the first group.

"They're on horseback?" he asked. Tristan shrugged.

"They could be. We know Woad's have some horses, so they could steal some." Bors spat.

"The bastards couldn't ride straight if they tried." But whether he reffered to Woad's or Saxns none knew, and none bothered to ask.

The entire group had vanished into a patch of thick wood off the path the wagons had been forced to take.

"The second horse is a bay with an armored rider with dark hair." Said Tristan. His voice quietly certain.

The other looked at him incredulously. "Ye' can't see that far!" said Bors, his words almost a bellow.

"That's Lancelot then." Said Dagonet, calmly taking out his sword. Bors gave him a dirty look but also drew his sword.

It was perhaps twenty minutes later when they heard the horses galloping up the trail before them. The first one to appear was magnificent white beast bearing a familiar figure. Her blue tattooing seemed to fairly leap from her pale flesh. Her head was turned back down the trail but then she looked ahead and saw them. Suddenly her horse pulled up short, it haunches skidding on the ground as it turned for her, neighing in surprise at it's riders change of course, a dark steed came racing around the corner and past the other before it could stop.

Arthur gave Lancelot a quick glance before turning his eyes back on the Woad woman. She was climbing to her feet, on the back of her horse which had now come around full circle, with her facing away on it's back! In her arms was a small crossbow from appearances. Ten feet behind her, halfway in between her and the corner around which the enemy would son come was Lancelot, his awe and amazement clear on his face as it was on the other's Knights' faces.

"Elaine!" he shouted as her horse began to walk up the hill calmly, and slowly so as not to jostle his rider, Arthur shok his head, not even drawing his sword, he had a feeling she wuldn't need any help... "Elaine!" came an echoing cry from behind Arthur, he turned to see the Woad Guinevere watching in horror a few feet away, her mouth wide open in shock. But the woman on horse back seemingly heard none of it, and a moment later three Saxons came around the corner, riding at breakneck speed.

She shot the two cross bows bolts and the first two riders went down, the third tried to rein in his horse and received a dagger in his throat, thrown by the slender flame haired warrior. Her crossbow now was on her hip and a normal bow was drawn, drawn by the wrong arm. She proceeded to notch an arrow to the string.

The next two Saxons didn't have a chance, one went down to the Woad's precise aim and the other took one of Tristan's knives to his torso and slowly tumbled from his horse.

Arthur had never been in such a short and utterly brutal combat before; the Woad's horse suddenly came to a stop before him and Dagonet, Lancelot pulling his in beside it. The woman turned and without seeming to care simply stepped off the huge stallion's back. She landed in a crouch; her green eyes fastened on his from between stray tendrils of flaming hair.

"Arthur..." said Lancelot. Suddenly their horses were pushed aside as a small dark haired figure shoved through them and pulled the red-haired warrior to her feet and into a crushing embrace. The knight's looked on in slight amazement and not a small amount of embarrassment as the two women spoke emotionally in their own tongue. Arthur understood some of what they said. As far as he could see Guinevere was both apologizing and remonstrating with her cousin over her clothing and fighting. And Elaine was soothing her with calm words.

Finally the taller woman disentangled herself from Guinevere and stepped closer to him. She crossed her arms across her chest, fists to either shoulder and bowed to him.

"Arthur Castas, I pledge myself to you and your knights for the duration of your passage through these lands, deeded to me by virtue of blood." She began. "And further to your journey to the wall, I swear to protect you, your knights, those whom you travel with, and..." She paused as though swallowing a bitter brew. "The Roman family you are protecting. If my life is the price that I must pay to have you live to leave this island alive, then so be it." She gave him a smile that was heartbreaking for it's bitterness edged with compassion.

"I will pay that price gladly to see you rid of your indenture." She glanced up at Lancelot, and Arthur saw in that glance something he saw in his own eyes when he looked at those he knew he was leading to possible doom. Her eyes then bored back into his own, bright with a strange fire that was all her own. He felt a rare smile curving his lips.

"If you will give your life to see to my men's freedom, then I will welcome you with gladness in my heart." He then gave her a more serious look. "Break that vow and nothing will save you." He warned her.

"Brake my vow, and my life is yours to have, Artorius. For I will not deserve life." She turned back to her cousin, who now watched her with wide eyes and an inquisitive tilt to her head.

"We had best keep moving, night will fall soon." She added, with a motion towards the disappeared Wagons. Gesturing for Guinevere to ride with her the young woman swung up onto her horse in as graceful a movement as Arthur had ever seen. He frowned as Guinevere struggled to join her, having to be helped to pull herself ungracefully to the horses back. Turning away he led their horses in a trot after the convoy.

"We'll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees." He motioned across the expanse f plain at a thick dark wood of strange evergreens. Tristan nodded and then lifted his hawk up.

"You want to go out again? Here-" the Hawk flew free in a sudden movement. Tristan paused a moment at his commanders side. "That, with the girl, good choice, she's formidable." Arthur found himself smiling again as the enigmatic scout disappeared down their back trail.

Nearby Lancelot was watching the white horse and its leather clad rider, in her soft grey cloak as she moved across the field. Arthur frowned, something had happened in those woods he sensed that neither one of them wanted to speak of. On the other side of Lancelot, Bors was gazing at the same woman with an expression that bespoke of more than mere hatred. Both Bors and Gawain seemed to distrust her, while Tristan and Lancelot obviously trusted her. It was illogical but true. The two she had wounded seemed to instinctively trust in her, while the others were more wary. Bors shot him a loook that said just what the big knight thought of his descison.

Arthur sighed, at least Dagonet and Galahad seemed not to care that much. So at least they weren't interfering in someway. The thought was childish but at that moment Arthur didn't particularly care. It seemed everything was on his head, and everywhere he turned someone either wanted him to do something, or explain to him why they believed he had made the wrong choice.

As he turned his horse again he saw Elaine just a few feet away. "They can't make you angry unless you let them." He frowned at her. She moved closer. He was surprised she had known his thoughts. Then again, the rumors of the Inish genral were nearly ten years old, and the woman before him could not be more than twenty-five. She mtioned with her head for him to ride beside her away from the wagons.

"There is a lake ahead." He looked up at her. She smiled at the dread in his expression. She held up a hand to seemingly calm him.

"It freezes in winter, But I don't' know how thick it will be, and no there is no going around." He cursed under his breath. And then stopped himself. He was swearing in front of a woman. She simply watched him; her eyes calm yet that strange glimmer was in them, that faint shimmer he had taken for arrogance when he had seen her scross a battlefield, but now saw was the spark of intelligence and he secretly admitted perhaps the tuch of magic that hung around her. "We have three days journey once we've passed the lake." She looked up around her. "You know this is actually a safer and quicker passage than the one I suspect you used." He grunted in agreement.

"Your people are good at keeping your secret ways." As soon as he spoke he cursed his own stupidity. Her face seemed to stiffen and she turned her horse slightly.

"Not my people Arthur. Not my people." Her words were emotionless and sadness. Without a word she turned away. Her horse moving without any sound, responding just to her slightest touch it seemed. He looked after her. He had seen the same reaction amongst his knights when they were called Romans.

Breathing deeply he whispered a prayer for patience, and mercy. "Oh most merciful and all seeing Father, I pray you will give me the patience and insight to get through this time, and I hope, that you, in your wisdom will keep my knights alive..." he paused a moment. "And I also pray that you will keep safe Guinevere and Elaine, they are pagans like my knight but they are I believe good hearted people and serve a higher cause that their own." He paused once more. "Amen."

* * *

"She what?" asked Guinevere, her viscous whisper echoing in their native language. Her dark eyes staring over shoulder in outraged astonishment.

"Hush." Her cousin responded. Turning her cousin's head away she used a soft wet cloth over her neck, washing away more of the grime and filth.

"She's really gone beyond the mark this time." growled Guinevere as her cousin gently wiped at her. They had been doing it ever since the refugees had stopped for the night. And finally Guinevere seemed more like what she had once been. Slowly they swapped places, Guinevere slipped the leather loops undone, and gently removed the armor has Elaine hissed in pain. She held up the armors skimpy top half and frowned. She examined the new additions to Elaine's armor and realised why they had been added, the flaps of leather fitted flawlessly into the armor's design yet also covered Elaine's fractured ribs. Guinevere brushed her fingers over them She let out anther hiss, writhing slightly at Guinevere's touch.

"Sorry." She said quickly. She reached for some cold clean clothes; she brushed it over the bruising and broken skin. "I should bind these." Elaine shook her head. "No. I am invincible remember, the Saxons know who The Inish General is, Or they should, I've killed enough of them, and the sight of bandages ruins my reputation for being untouchable." She finished on a lighter note. Guinevere remained silent as she reached back for a salve. Gently she smeared the sweet smelling ointment over her cousin's creamy skin.

Her cousin gasped slightly, turning her head to the side. Gritting her teeth as Guinevere put more ointment against her bruised skin.

* * *

Lancelot handed his horse over to Jols. He placed his saddle gear at the base of a tree and then looked up as a shadow flickered on the ground nearby, Two women were naked within a caravan. One of them was examining something as the other's face contorted with pain. He watched Elaine writhe when the other brushed her back; her eyes closed in pain as a snarl bared her teeth. She twisted her face away, if she opened her eyes she would see him. She would see him watching her. But for some reason he could not look away.

Her eyes opened and looked directly at him. Bright with suppressed pain and tears she just looked at him, surprise widening her eyes and opening her mouth in a silent oh. Then her companion applied something to her back and she tensed, he watched the firelight play on her muscles contracted beneath her velvety skin.

The warrior in him admired the muscles for their deadly strength and the man in him admired the curve of her breasts and the way her skin seemed to have an inner radiance all it's own, like her sparkling eyes...

He watched her for a moment more before turning away. His face heating as his blood pounded through every vein.

"Oh no." He whispered into the chilly night, as though someone could assure him it was not so. The he was not... not, well, attracted to a woman who could cut him down in her sleep probably. He cursed viscously.

* * *

The two women spoke softly in their native tongue.

"Did you see him?" asked Guinevere softly, her fingers brushing lightly over her cousin's lower back, seeking the knots of tension to massage away. The Woads were skilled in massage, they found nothing more relaxing and both Guinevere and Elaine both knew the value of relaxation before battle.

"I saw him." She replied as softly.

"You would give your life for them?" asked Guinevere, her voice reflective as she frowned out into the night. Elaine turned her face too look up at her younger cousin.

"I would." She replied. Guinevere looked at her through narrowed eyes.

"Just for the Wyrd? You've refused to do her bidding in the past, why change that now?" she asked.

"I have to atone." She turned her face away.

"Atone?" her voice was incredulous. "Elaine, you have nothing to atone for!" her cousin shook her head violently before she could continue.

"I have to atone," she turned to face her cousin. "for the lives I've taken simply because I could. Because it was all I knew." She was sad. "I never tried to see another way of life Guinevere, I never tried to because it was easier to be the 'Devil General', a ghost without a heart. It was so much easier." Guinevere gently lifted the leather armor.

She was silent as she helped her cousin into the garment; carefully she tied it so it would not injure Elaine unduly. Elaine gave her a small smile of thanks and moved to exit the wagon.

"Wait!" Guinevere called softly. Elaine looked up, Guinevere's bottom lip was between her teeth in an old habit from when she was a child. "I will not let any of them fall Elaine, If their lives matter so much t you, then to me as well, they will mean much." A smile slowly lit up Elaine's pale face, erasing the signs of tiredness and weakness that had been there just a moment before. She just nodded before turning away, her grey cloak she swung around her shoulders, it draped around her, its warmth comforting and settling in a strange way.

She brushed the silver brooch that fastened it. Another smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she traced the symbol of Shalott, a woman amidst swirling waters edged with a Celtic border. Her home was newer settlement founded by her father and his symbol was the Lady of the Lake, the spirit of the lake who had guarded him and his family for many years. A water spirit who was kind and sweet, and far more beautiful than any mortal woman. Though just as manipulative as the Wyrd in her own way. She had invited Elaine's father to settle on her island with his people when he brought home his Irish Princess, whose child was to be savoir of her people and who must be protected at all costs.

She could feel her guardian's gentle magic in the warmth of the cloak. In the way it seemed to both warm her and hold her close. She moved into the forest, her innate senses reaching out, seeking the perfect place.

Se found a small glen, the moon shone down between the trees, the slender birch and aspen provided little comfort against the night wind but in this small place there were several boulders, she paused on the edge, her head turning ever so slightly. She smiled. And moved into the clearing.

* * *

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